


nobody knows you the way i do

by shuttermutt



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Domestic, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 04:45:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2568650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuttermutt/pseuds/shuttermutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The only reason they’d agreed to the shitty flat—with its mice co-inhabitants and terrible heating and slightly leaky kitchen faucet—was the way Harry had looked when he saw the huge, claw-foot tub in the bathroom for the first time.</i> </p><p>Zayn and Harry take a bath together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nobody knows you the way i do

**Author's Note:**

> noticed i hadn't really posted in a while and this seemed like a cute idea. 
> 
> **WARNINGS** : set in a universe where STIs don't exist, slight powerplay previously negotiated,1D doesn't exist, Zayn and Harry aren't famous, Zayn is not engaged to Perrie. If the thought of being in a tub where someone has come is gross to you, don't read after they start having sex?

“Hey, you ready?”

Zayn pokes his head around the doorframe, picking Harry out among the mess. He’s sorting their laundry even though they both know it’ll all get shoved in at the laundromat because they don’t have enough change for that many loads.

“It’s done?” Harry has a sock stuck in his hair and Zayn smiles, so fond his heart hurts with it sometimes.

“Yeah, c’mon.” He goes into the bedroom and helps Harry up off the floor, picking out the sock and flinging it away. Harry laughs when he notices it and Zayn cups the back of his neck, threading his fingers into the curls there. “Idiot.”

Harry beams. “You love it.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, but he does. “Hurry up or it’ll get cold.” He lets his hand drop to Harry’s, links their fingers together to tug him towards the bathroom. 

He’s got it set up how Harry likes; clusters of candles around the room, on the window ledge, all over the counter. The lights are off but there’s so many candles that they can still move around with ease. There’s two different bath bombs waiting for them, and the heat from the bathwater has turned the air hazy and liquid.

“It’s so nice,” Harry says. He turns around and puts his arms around Zayn’s neck, leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. “Thanks, Zayn. My back has been aching, this should be lovely.”

Zayn kisses him properly, licking over the taste of his sugary lip balm. “‘Course, babe.”

The only reason they’d agreed to the shitty flat—with its mice co-inhabitants and terrible heating and slightly leaky kitchen faucet—was the way Harry had looked when he saw the huge, claw-foot tub in the bathroom for the first time. It wasn’t very practical and the water pressure from the showerhead felt like being spit on most of the time, but Harry loved baths, and it was big enough for the both of them, so they’d said yes and moved in a week later.

Now, there’s remnants of all the candles Harry has burned down everywhere, hair products littered wherever there’s space, and a basket full of Lush products under the window. The tile has suspicious stains that Zayn doesn’t even know the source of anymore, and the whole place usually smells like the inside of a beauty store, but it makes Harry happy and that’s enough for Zayn.

“C’mon, I bought that nice shampoo you like,” Zayn says, already stripping down. Harry’s eyes linger, because they always linger, but he follows Zayn’s lead and gets naked as well.

Harry winces as he slowly lowers himself into the bath. Zayn always keeps it hot enough to hurt for the first few minutes, but it always relaxes his muscles quickly after the initial shock. Zayn gets in across from him, sighing happily at the rush of heat up his body.

They both stretch out, Zayn with his legs bracketing Harry’s hips, and Harry reaches over to grab one of the bath bombs.

“Is butterball okay?”

“Works for me.” 

Harry lets it plop into the water with a small splash and they both watch as it fizzes and starts to make the water milky. Instantly the bathroom smells like vanilla and shea butter and Zayn descends deeper into the water, sighing. Harry hums a discordant note.

“This is nice,” Zayn murmurs, chin touching the hot water when he speaks, he’s sunk down so low. His fingers are floating in the murky water and he touches a glob of shea that passes, watching as it clings to his finger, oily and thick. He wants to smoke now that his body is unwinding; his fingers itch with it.

“Here.” Harry puts the end of a cigarette to Zayn’s mouth, sets it in place when Zayn opens up in surprise. He hadn’t spied a pack or his lighter anywhere. Harry’s got an intent look on his face, like he’s concentrating hard to get it right. It takes two tries for the lighter to light and Harry cups around the end of the cigarette as he lights it, tongue poked out the corner of his mouth.

Zayn inhales deeply, the rush of nicotine settling even his twitchy fingers as it rushes through his blood. Harry stares at him with wide eyes as Zayn sighs, smoke coming from his nose and mouth in a steady stream.

“Better, yeah?” Harry’s mouth tips up in a grin. 

“Much.”

He leans his head back against the edge of the tub as he burns the cigarette down, smoke rising lazily up towards the ceiling. Zayn makes a soft noise when Harry tickles his foot under the water and tilts his head down just enough to see him again.

Harry’s hair is dark and floats in the water around his shoulders. He’s sunk down low enough that Zayn can see the slight ripple of his breath against the water. He looks silly and his curls are going to tangle up if he just lets them do what they want, but Zayn still feels that warmth of fondness rush up through his chest.

Zayn leans over the edge of the tub and ashes his cigarette in the mug they’ve left for that purpose. Straightening, he beckons to Harry. “C’mere so I can give you a proper wash,” he says.

“Proper wash?” Harry asks after he’s resurfaced, eyes gleaming. “Have I not been doing it to your liking? Does my stink offend you?” He still swishes through the water, sitting with his back to Zayn’s chest, head falling onto Zayn’s shoulder. Harry smiles and flutters his eyelashes against Zayn’s cheek. It tickles.

Zayn catches the endearment behind his teeth before he says something soppy, but from the way Harry’s face lights up, he knows what Zayn is thinking. “Sit up or I’ll get soap in your eyes,” Zayn says instead.

They both get sat right, Harry leaning slightly forward so Zayn can work the shampoo into his hair without dripping. They’ve sacrificed safety—“No fear tears shampoo is a valid regime, stop laughing!”—for quality, so Zayn is careful when he pours out the sugary smelling liquid into his cupped palm. It’s cold, so Zayn rubs it between his hands for a few moments before sliding his slick fingers through Harry’s hair.

It only takes a few seconds of Zayn massaging the shampoo in for Harry to hum a note and lean into the touch. If Zayn was watching him from the front, he would see that Harry’s eyes were half-closed, a light flush working its way up his cheeks. Zayn tugs lightly at a knot in the curls and Harry sucks in a breath. He knows Harry is hard, knows how worked up he gets when Zayn plays with his hair and tugs at it and takes care of him like this. It’ll wait, though.

Once he’s worked the shampoo into a lather, Zayn cleans his hands in the water. “Lean forward,” he says softly, afraid to ruin the feeling of the room by being too loud. Harry obeys, bowing his head so his soapy curls are hanging away from his face. Zayn is careful as he pours palmfuls of water through Harry’s hair, rinsing it clean. He repeats the process with the matching conditioner. All the while Harry is quiet, moving however Zayn needs, leaning into his hands and Zayn’s chest for stability.

“You’re good,” Zayn says finally, breaking the spell. 

Harry turns to face him, eyes blinking slowly, half-drugged with how much he liked Zayn’s touch. He doesn’t move back to his side of the tub, keeps his knees crowded up under Zayn’s armpits and his arms thrown around Zayn’s neck.

“D’you want me to wash yours?” he asks in his sleep-slow voice, warm caramel dripping down Zayn’s spine. He fiddles with the bun Zayn had twisted his hair into before their bath, not taking the elastic off, but letting Zayn know he could do so with one word.

Zayn shakes his head, puts his hands on Harry’s hips under the water, gently warm now instead of hot. “Don’t need it,” he says. 

Around them the bathroom smells like warm vanilla and shea and sticky toffee. Like if he stuck out his tongue he could actually taste it on the air. They’re both sweating from the heat of the bathroom. Zayn can feel it down the back of his neck and he can see it dripping down Harry’s chest. His own face is probably as read as Harry’s, from the heat and how good this feels, just having this moment to themselves.

Harry’s breath hitches when he sways in closer and his cock presses against Zayn’s stomach. He’s hard, has been for a while, probably. Harry is ever so sensitive, Zayn has learned over the years. Most anything can get him started.

“I’ve got you,” Zayn murmurs. He gets one hand around Harry’s cock, giving him one pull just to feel him. The water makes his hand move quickly and easily and they can both hear the tiny disturbance of Zayn’s hand through the water. Just one little splash. “Is this okay?” he asks, staring down between them at the ghostly image of his hand around Harry’s cock in the water, distorted. “Do you want to go to the bed?”

“This is good,” Harry says. He presses his forehead against Zayn’s left shoulder, breath going funny when Zayn starts to tug him off properly, pulling his foreskin down and then back up over his head, playing with the slit when he exposes it. “Zayn.”

“I’ve got you,” he says again.

Zayn knows Harry’s body almost better than his own, at this point. He could play with Harry’s nipples, pull his hair, squeeze his cock tighter and Harry would be there right on the edge of release. Instead, he uses Harry’s spread legs to his advantage, sneaking his other hand down to rub one blunt finger against Harry’s rim. He won’t push in, won’t try to fuck him in the water. That would leave them both chafed and sore. Harry makes a low noise when Zayn touches him, surprise and excitement.

He focuses on getting Harry off, tugging at him exactly the right way, hard and fast and merciless. Harry’s hips rock up to meet his fist. They’re sending waves of water lapping against the sides of the tub, louder than before. It’s probably a good thing there’s a drain in the floor, they’re so careless.

“Zayn, I—”

“You can, you can,” Zayn urges.

Harry bites his bottom lip and squeezes his eyes shut, hands gripping tight on Zayn’s shoulders. There will be bruises there later in the shapes of his fingers that Zayn will relish. His hips snap up one last time and Zayn keeps his hand moving as Harry comes. He keeps tugging at Harry, watching as Harry’s orgasm spreads through the water, milky like the bath bomb. He rubs his thumb across Harry’s crown as one last fat pearl spurts out, mixing with the rest of the water.

Harry’s chest is red all the way down to the water and his thighs are quivering slightly, sending more ripples through their bath. He’s catching his breath, but it doesn’t sound thin like he needs his inhaler. Zayn’s learned to read his breathing, picking out when they’ve pushed too far. 

Zayn is hard, desperate for release. He could use his own hand, or wait until Harry was better coordinated to use his. He could even wait until they got out to lay Harry in bed and work him over properly, getting him nice and open and wet and ready for Zayn. He’s too impatient, though. Needs it too much.

“Squeeze tight,” Zayn says, moving Harry in his lap so his knees were around Zayn’s hips now. 

It makes his thighs press together, which is what Zayn wants. Harry gathers his meaning quickly, keeping his thighs flush. Zayn fucks his cock up between them, groaning with how good it feels. Harry’s thighs are so slick and easy to fuck between, but they’re tight, giving Zayn’s cock friction and squeeze. He’s so good, it feels so good.

He realises he’s murmuring, “so good,” over and over again while Harry flexes and squeezes around him. It makes him desperate for a proper fuck, but this is fantastic, too. It only takes a few more thrusts before he comes, heat travelling up through his belly and spreading out to his limbs to make him feel lethargic and orgasm-stupid.

Harry’s the one who reaches back to pull out the plug, the loud sound of the drain filling up the room. They both support one another as they get out of the bath. Zayn wraps a fluffy towel around Harry’s shoulders and accepts one in turn for himself. They dry themselves and each other, then stumble out of the tub. Zayn has the presence of mind to blow out all the candles while Harry makes his way to the bedroom.

He’s still trailing water down his back from his hair. They need to properly dry it or it’ll get frizzy and unruly, but Zayn can’t be moved, right now. He feels warm and relaxed and happy and like he just wants to wrap himself around Harry for the next few hours in their bed.

So that’s what he does.


End file.
